Other Worlds
by VoiDreamer
Summary: Theirs is not a love that ends so easily. In other worlds, other lives, they have their happy ending. But not all end well, and in some they find their destiny an even colder, darker thing. A collection of AUs. Solas/Lavellan
1. 01 - Cut Short

AN: This is going to be a collection of various AUs, brought about by my wandering mind and short attention span.

Solas' comment that the relationship with Lav could have worked in 'other worlds' always made me wonder, and this is me exploring some very different scenarios. I'd love to hear any suggestions as well!

I promise not all will be sad, but I felt it would not be a proper Solas/Lavellan fic without a first bit of heartache.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the characters or plot, nor do I plan on making a profit from these little bits of writing.

Enjoy,

Voi

* * *

_"Will you talk to me when we are finished with Corypheus?" _

Her words haunt him.

Waking, sleeping...he even hears them as he traverses the Fade. There is nowhere he goes that she is not there in some form.

A ghostly whisper that plagues his consciousness, not real or material but so very familiar that his heart cannot tell the difference. And the memory of it remains as fresh, as vibrant as it was the first time.

The anguish in her eyes, held back , held in control by a heart that is breaking under the strain. He will never forget that expression, the last time she truly looked at him.

How confident he had been, how foolhardy.

Had he learned nothing? Of others, of himself?

He had thought himself far removed from the young hothead he had been as a youth, and yet the mistakes he made felt too similar to have been coincidence. What arrogance, to think that he knew what was best, for her, for them both.

_"If we are both still alive afterward. Then I promise you, everything will be made clear." _

A promise he had no intention of keeping. He had said what she needed to hear, what he thought she needed to hear, and had watched her walk away.

Hurting but satisfied, he had consoled himself with the knowledge that he had set her on the path, had removed himself so that she could focus. What did it matter that in order to do so he had cut out both of their hearts?

_How had he not seen that? _

They would both live, _she_ would live, and could spend the rest of the days hating him once the world was saved.

He hadn't counted on her own brand of heartache.

No, not once had the thought even crossed his mind.

Not truly.

And the surprise of it was so terrible that he even now the memory leaves him almost mute in horror.

She allowed herself to be cut down.

Because she did _allow_ it to happen.

She _had_ to.

That was the only reasonable explanation for why, in the midst of battle, she was suddenly without guard or protection. Why she did nothing to stop Corypheus' final desperate attack even as she lunged forward to finish the task.

She had allowed herself to be struck.

Her blood was everywhere.

Even now he can feel that terrifying splash of warmth across his face as he raced towards her, can remember the twist of his insides as he assessed the damage to her person.

It was a nightmare, one which he is not sure he will ever wake from.

Not even his hoarse cries of denial could change what had happened.

There was no saving her.

The realization was immediate, brutal.

_There was too much, too much... _

His hands tremble at the memory of her blood on them, at the feel of her life slipping through his fingers. A life she had offered to spend with him had he but the strength to let her in.

Could he have changed their fates? Had his own failing courage wrought this conclusion for them both?

In the end, it was her expression that undid him. That wounded him more deeply than any sword or casted magic.

The smile, the relief. As if her death was a respite from the world she had found herself, the path she had been placed.

"Why, Vhenan?"

There was no time for explanation, and even less time for affection, but he could not stop himself.

He had accepted he might live the rest of his life away from her eyes.

But never had he imagined he might have to exists in a world where she did not draw breath.

_"Dareth shiral ma vhenan." _

Her words, the faint brush of her fingertips across his heart shattered what was left in his chest. And in her wake she left nothing but a splintered mess, the pieces so twisted and numerous he knew it would never be whole.

_Farewell my heart. _

Those were the last words she ever spoke to him, and when the light faded from her eyes, it was as if he had died along with her.

The orb that lay broken beside him had never mattered less, and he remained where he was until Cole and Cassandra gently pulled him away.

But that night he found no rest nor respite from his guilt, nor the night after that. Even those who he had worked with, traveled with, seemed to look at him with sad eyes.

It was too much, all of it.

Haunted by the memories of the fight, by the thoughts of her, escape had seemed the only thing to do. The only way to keep what small shred of sanity was to leave. Forever would not be long enough.

He had not expected to be stopped, to be forcibly unhorsed, in the middle of his departure.

"Leaving are you?! Running away in the middle of the night?"

Sera was furious, livid as she stood over him. Cheek stinging from where she had struck him, he looked up and could not stop the temper that rose so ferociously to the surface.

"What does it matter?" Snarling, he rolled to his knees, pressed the heel of his hand into his cheek, "There is nothing more for me here. You were there when we fought the Elder One, she is dead _by her own choosing_ and I am leaving by my own choice."

He stood, steadied himself as he reached for his mount's reins.

" You stupid man." There was temper in Sera's voice, but perhaps pity as well. It scraped Solas' already raw nerves, "You blind, _daft_ man."

Swinging up on the Hart's back, Solas said nothing, posture stiff as he turned toward the gates once more.

"You think she chose to die out of _spite_?" The elven woman scoffed, shouted after him, "You know better than that, you idiot. That attack she took -the one that killed her - that was aimed at you!"

And when Solas swung around to look at her, ready to deny her gross accusation, he found her dashing furious tears from her eyes.

"You bastard." She wept as she shouted, disappointed in him and his blindness, "The only one who doesn't know the truth is you. We all saw it. Ask any of _them_ and they'll tell you."

She pointed to the keep, to the hundreds of lives that had been witness to their Herald's final act.

One of bravery, not cowardice.

One of _love_.

He could have asked any of them.

But he never did.

Instead he turned and fled, chased by demons so dark and terrible they could only be the product of truth.

It is not until much later, years later, that he finally returns to the words that had started and ended everything.

_"Will you talk to me when we are finished?" _

Her words echo in the dark, never to be forgotten.

Just as the pain and guilt remain.

But maybe there is a way they can both find peace.

His heart knows what must be done.

_"Will you talk to me?"_

She looks at him with those pained eyes, emotion held back by a crumbling heart.

This time he nods and takes a seat, in the dark, in the Fade.

"Alright, Vhenan. Let us talk."

And so he begins to explain everything.


	2. 02 - Power of Knowledge

AN: Hi all, thanks so much for the crazy support on the last chapter! Without further ado here is world #2: in which the knowledge from the Well of Sorrows is the perfect solution to more than just the final fight.

Enjoy!

~Voi

* * *

"Please Vhenan."

There were no tears in her eyes, but she could barely see him through the fog of pain that clouded her vision. So thin and responsive here in this grove, it was as if the veil had somehow manifested the pangs and twinges of a wounded heart into a physical presence.

"Solas." She swallowed hard, "Please don't go, I-"

Taking a great shuddering inhale, she tried to remain steady, to rise above the hurt he had caused with his sudden and inexplicable rejection. But the longer she struggled the more it became apparent that her ability to stave off tears was quickly dwindling.

"I love you."

She had never said the words to him before, had never meant to say them, use them, the way she was at that moment. But to remain silent now would be to live in regret for the rest of her life. Because even now she suspected he had no intention of staying with the Inquisition longer than was absolutely necessary.

Not with all of his secrets.

She knew he had them, and she was not alone in her estimations.

A melodic mix of men and women's voices echoed in her mind. She had heard their song since her decision at the Well of Sorrows. And while their insight and presence had been a hard won prize, the decision had come with a high cost as well.

Her choice had been a point of contention within the inquisition, with Solas in particular.

Even now she could recall his stricken expression, could sense the tension in his hands while he had checked her for injury, or something worse.

In the weeks since acquiring her abilities she had found them, the voices, immeasurably useful, powerful. Not just for her missions, but for those she journeyed with as well.

The voices had provided tantalizing clues and histories the likes of which even she could not fully comprehend. But could she truly believe them? They had never been wrong yet, but...

_Dread Wolf._

She shied away from the thought, turned away to focus on where Solas lingered, expression a mirror for her own anguish.

"You have a rare and marvelous spirit." His hand brushed her cheek for a fleeting moment, searing her with his touch, "In another world..."

The ache in her throat threatened to render her mute, to suffocate her entirely. She had suspected...had worried that such a day would come, but never could she have anticipated the pain.

"Why not this one? This world?" She asked.

And yet, even now, despite the hurt, his words were like the strikes of a hammer to molten weapon, each blow shaping a stronger sword, a keener blade.

"Do not walk away from me, Solas, please."

She took one step and then another, hand gently touching his arm as she drew near. He shuddered, swallowed an oath of pain as he wretched himself away.

"I can't. I'm sorry."

And then he started walking away, out of the grove, away from her.

Would she never again see that tender look in his eyes? Feel the touch of his hand, his lips, the firm strength of his arms as he held her close?

Struggling with the image of that future, she groped around in the dark of her mind willing herself to find the courage to call after him. To find someway to convince him otherwise.

The voices of the elders, of the Well, rose to her request with the same name they had given her before. And their solution, their answer, was everything that terrified her.

"Fen'harel?"

The word fell from her lips as soft as a whisper, but it crackled through the space like lightning, striking its mark with such accuracy that the force of it nearly made them both jerk upright.

Stopped dead in his tracks, Solas went rigid in the face of her question, her accusation.

Wheeling around on his heel, his eyes scorched as he searched her face, sought his answer with a fervor that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with worry.

"What did you say?"

Gone was the rich cadence of his voice as he spoke of the fade, replaced by a tightness she did not recognize.

He had not moved from where he was standing, on the edge of the grove and still very capable of fleeing if need be. But when she struggled to speak again, found the words lodged in her throat, he repeated himself.

"Vhenan, what did you say?"

Striding forward, he had her at arms reach a moment later, expression fierce as he waited for her to respond. But there was no missing the tension in his lean frame, and she did not miss the way his hands were fisted at his side.

"You are him." Her lips curled into a small wobbly smile then. How strange her life, to have seen and met so many rare people.

_Dread Wolf._

She repeated herself and was surprised by how comfortable the knowledge became the second time she spoke his name. Acceptance, like a soft cloak, settled around her as the truth perfumed the air.

"I am _not_."

He had always so sure of himself, of his own mind, that she had never questioned who he was. Now she knew why.

Knowledge was power, and she had the knowledge of centuries behind her.

"Liar." She responded to him without temper, but called out his dishonesty for what it was, "You would not have come back here, to stand in front of me, if I was not right."

"I would, if I thought you were making a terrible mistake."

"Like falling in love with the one man most capable of breaking my heart?" Her lopsided smile faded a little as he winced. "Or are the voices of Mythal's most dedicated followers incorrect?"

"They're wrong." Terse, desperate maybe, he shook his head, "Please do not pursue this any further."

"You are a terrible liar." Her smile failed her completely as she looked up and saw his too-serious face, "It's no wonder you've been so careful with your promises."

"I've never lied to you, Vhenan."

His brow knitted in an expression she knew all too well. She hated causing him pain, but she would not budge on this, not when she knew the truth of it now.

"Solas." She reached down and gently slid her small hand over one clenched fist, "Let me come with you. If just so you know I'm not telling people."

She was an equally poor liar and neither one of them believed her threat for more than a moment. But her intent was clear.

"Vhenan...you must not."

He was a man torn. But as his sides his hands relaxed, allowed her to lace her fingers for a moment.

"You do not know what you are asking."

He lifted their joined hands and brushed a kiss along her fingers, released his hold so he could kiss her palm. There was a wealth of turmoil behind his eyes, and she knew he would have spared her the truth, his truth, if it would have kept her safe.

"This is why you told me not to take the knowledge of the Well. Isn't it?" She reached up with her free hand to touch the corner of his mouth where it had pulled tight in strain, to smooth the furrow of his brow.

The realization that he would have preferred to suffer alone made her all the more resolved to help him, to travel beside him.

"I'm not going anywhere. Not now, when I know you best of all." She raised steely eyes challenged him, "If I truly am your heart, then let me come with you."

He looked like a man about to plunge off a cliff, desperate to change her mind but unable to find the strength to rip himself away, not again.

Unsmiling, serious as she pulled him into an embrace of her own, the warmth of their mutual touch was a balm to their wounded hearts. She wanted him to know he could count on her, could rely on her.

"I...if you wish it." He whispered her name like a lovers token, sweet and soft, held close to his heart, "It seems I can deny you nothing."

"You won't regret it." She promised, pressed herself into the strong curve of his shoulder as she tried to stave off the tears that threatened once more. But these tears were different, filled with joy.

Her heart had never been so full, so happy. She would gladly share his burden, his journey, if it meant they might one day find peace together.

He chuckled at the sound of her muffled sniffling and cuddled her closer, hands brushing the tears from her lashes, lips pressing a tender kiss to her mouth.

Warm, sweet, the first of their forever.

"Oh, Vhenan." he whispered, "I could never regret you, not ever."


	3. 03 - Arlathan Pt1

AN: So...this one got a little bit out of hand. I think it'll be a 2 part AU about our favorite couple in Arlathan, but who knows? This is more different than the other two, so I've had to take certain liberties. Please let me know what you think - I'd love to get your input!

Also, please let me know if I should adjust the rating - this is a little more adult than the previous two entries.

Enjoy!

~Voi

* * *

In Arlathan, during the time of ancient elves and immortality, she is a servant to a minor noble, Lady Rhendril of Clan Lavellan.

One of hundreds in the household, she is a master gardener of summer roses and is valued for the blooms she grows and the rich fragrances that perfume the air of her mistress' numerous villas. And though there are others like her, specialists that have carefully cultivated their craft, she is _unique_.

At least, that is what _he_ tells her.

No other can make the blooms shine with such luster, nor grow generation after generation of flower with such a keen eye for desirable traits. It is an ability, a skill, she has not learned but one that is inherent to her character.

She has magic, it is true, but it is nothing compared to the power wielded by the nobles and their equals. And so her bland abilities are turned towards garden service and not entertainment. It is, perhaps a small blessing, for Lavellan (named for her mistress' clan and therefore without first name). She has never been particularly good at dealing with attention.

Still, her work is not without notice and when her mistress gains increasing popularity for her blossoms, Lavellan is gifted with a small house and an income of her own. Promised privacy and a small team of gardeners to help her work, the only other stipulation is that the fruits of her labor must remain the sole possession of her mistress.

Compared to the living of many of her peers the offer is of such unparalleled generosity that Lavellan agrees immediately. And though her home may not be as fashionable as those servants who work in the city, her country cottage is perfect.

Made of simple white stone and an unremarkable wooden roof, the addition of a private garden is a pleasant surprise that all but secures her dedication to her profession, her loyalty. And that was perhaps the point, because even though she is a slave, her worth makes her more. Almost like a servant, like a _person_.

Her mistress would have been a fool to not guard the source of her popularity.

"Gardener Lavellan."

Her assistant greets her at the back of the estate, by the large wrought silverite gate that guards their mistress' gardens. Two weeks she had been away, preparing her mistress' city villa for the annual winter ball, but the moment she returned it was as if she had never left.

And though the cold season had certainly come to Arlathan the estate remained warm, perfect for flowers. It was for this reason Lavellan had been given permission to live there year round, regardless of her mistress' current residence.

Another freedom allowed only by the grace of her talents.

"Gardener? I have the newest cuttings of the Coastal Whites, where should I put them?"

Removing her traveling cloak as she gestured her assistant to follow, Lavellan barely glanced at the tray of young plants as she strode towards the back of the gardens, towards her home.

"You're certain those are the Coastal whites?" Frowning, as she took a second, longer look, Lavellan shook her head, "I think they might be the Pale Floris. Yellow throated leaves, see?"

Gently touching the largest of the plants with her finger, Lavellan gestured in the direction of the large glass enclosure that dominated the southern end of the expansive gardens, "Can you please check? I'll take the Coastal Whites on my workbench when you're ready."

Her assistant was nodding a moment later, spiriting the box away with an apology that Lavellan only barely heard. She wanted to get to her home and sleep, two weeks of careful court appearances and arranging hundreds of roses for no less than a dozen events had wrung her of all energy. But there was always work to be done, and with so much relying on her roses she dared not waste even a moment.

At least the journey had been a fruitful one. Mistress Rhendril had been incredibly pleased with her newest delivery of summer roses, and had all but swooned at the increasingly large group of admirers that had come to call.

A happy mistress meant she could continue her work, could grow her esteem, could maybe one day find herself faced with true freedom rather than the illusion of it.

Closing the door of her home, Lavellan looked around the modest space to find not an item out of place. Safe, secure, everything was as she had left it.

Well, almost.

Running her hand along her rough wooden table she felt not a speck of dust, and there, in the corner of her small room she spied a flower in the small glass she kept for such small pleasures. She could only think of one person who had such private access, and the fact that he had watched over her things brought a small smile to her face.

Her lover was a thoughtful man indeed. Strange by some accounts, but sweet.

Bending down to inhale the soft fragrance of the flower, a delicate blue blossom called Wolf's Moon, Lavellan indulged for only a moment. It smelled like him, the flower, delicate but woodsy, deceptively rich. Indeed, the scent was a comfort, and she smiled when she realized the small blossom had perfumed her entire home. Given that he was a gardener of equal renown, his gift to her was made all the more precious for its rare appointment outside his master's garden.

A small bit of rebellion from a quiet man.

The thought brought a bittersweet smile to her face.

They did not see each other often, and so even the smallest reminder of him was cherished. But still she did not wish him to get in trouble. There was no telling who might have seen him carry such a precious gift to her.

Sighing as she changed from her formal court livery to the more functional garb of gardener, Lavellan stole one last moment to enjoy her home before heading back outdoors.

And as she walked she hummed softly, crossing the modest path from her home to where the her private garden lay tucked behind a short stone wall.

Hers was not as flamboyant as the country gardens of her mistress, and it was certainly nothing like the gardens kept in the center of the city. But as she gazed at the tidy beds of flowers, there was a peace, a contentedness.

It was hers, this garden. And her heart was in every carefully tended bloom, every fragile leaf, root and tuber. She would live very happily indeed if she could tend just this little space for the rest of her days.

"Lavellan?"

A voice, distant and melodic gently drew her away from her thoughts. There were few people at the country estate because of all the winter festivities that were held in the city's heart, but even she did not recognize this voice as a one of the household.

Turning towards the speaker, she looked up and felt the surprise paint itself across her features as she realized the person she was talking to was most certainly not her assistant.

Pale, unmarked face, blue eyes with that same sort of somber intelligence that reminded her of Lady Rhendril, Lavellan felt her heart give a little thrill in her chest at the sight of him.

"Has it truly been so long that you no longer recognize me?" Teasing her in his own quiet way, he drew close and gently settled himself on the wall beside her.

His voice was gentle, the touch of his hand upon her chin equally so as he canted her face upwards, bestowing a slow, melting kiss upon her lips a moment later. Slow, languid, he luxuriated in the heat of her lips just as she reveled in the firm pressure of his mouth, the sizzle of a very different kind of heat that came when his tongue delved deeper.

She had almost forgotten what it had felt like, to be in his arms, to feel the rush of pleasure of his hands upon her back, coaxing her closer.

In the end, he drew away only when they were both flushed, short of breath and she was shy with it.

"I am sorry if I startled you."

She didn't know if he was talking about the kiss or his unexpected appearance so she said only, "I'm glad you're here."

Her cheeks flushed a charming pink as she admitted softly, "I...I missed you."

The look he gave her told her that he shared the sentiment, and she did not protest when he leaned down a second time to give her a shorter, but infinitely sweeter kiss.

"Vhenan." His voice was husky with pleasure, "I have missed you as well."

His words made her blush a deeper scarlet, but her lips, however tender from his kisses, curved upwards in a contented smile, "How long can you stay?"

His handsome face lit with a muted smile, "A week, so we need not rush." Eying the rows of flowers awaiting her meticulous care, he turned back to her, "We are both committed to the land are we not?"

"Indeed." She nodded, leaned against his shoulder for only a moment before sighing, "I have a few hours of work that need doing."

His hand settled against the nape of her neck, squeezed her shoulder in support before stepping back.

"I will let you go then, as you must do your duty. But I will be waiting for you when you finish."

"Waiting?" Her lips parted, eyes slowly opening to give him a considering look.

His smile, warm and friendly became just that bit more suggestive and in his eyes she saw the lick of a fire banked by only the smallest of margins. Scorching, he looked at her in that moment as if he might like to unclothe her where she stood, push her against the rough wall and take their pleasure with an immediacy that had her heart racing.

"Wait for me?" she asked, voice a little too breathless to sound firm.

He chuckled, and the sound was every bit as seductive as the slow careful way he brushed his thumb along her lower lip.

"I will do my best."

The remaining hours of work were the longest she had ever had to endure.

Lavellan enjoyed her work. The feel of the soil in her hands, the satisfaction of nurturing life and watching it grow under her protective care, she thrived on the cycles of air, sunlight and water. But whereas she usually found such work calming, a time for reflection, this particular day proved to be the oppostie.

Gone was the exhaustion of her journey, replaced instead by the buzz of excitement, expectation. And the thought of it all kept her energized through the physically demanding rigors of the garden.

Still, by the time she was finished, the sky was dark with expectant rain, and evening had fallen. The day had taken its toll, and she returned to her home weary but content, hands and face smudged with no small amount of dirt.

"Tired?"

He gave her a knowing look as he met her at the door of her home, eyes dancing with the smile already upon his lips.

"A little." Her muscles ached from the exertion of the day, but thoughts of him had kept her occupied, "I could use a bath."

"Indeed?" His smile broadened, "Then it is a good thing there is one waiting for you."

"Oh?" Her lips quirked as she took one small, sultry step closer, "Just a bath?"

He closed the distance between them as he drew her further inside the house and shut out the rest of the world. Then, without a word of warning, his hands found their way to her waist, pausing only momentarily before smoothly slipping beneath the rough fabric of her shirt. Slowly, so slowly, he eased the dressing off her shoulders, letting her feel the heat of his fingers as they brushed over her belly, the tips of her breasts.

He followed suit a moment later, removing his own top with the sort of economical grace that had Lavellan stepping closer so as to touch the skin his bared so readily. Tall and leanly muscled, she was reminded in that moment of how handsome he was.

Feeling her heart beat frantically, she placed the palm on her hand upon his chest and smiled at the feel of his heart.

Strong, steady, just like him.

If he was nervous or shy there was no indicator, and she envied his control.

Smoothing her hands down the strong planes of his front, she leaned down to press her mouth against one of the few scars that bisected his body. They had spoken of his injuries in the past, but never had she found them anything less than beautiful, part of who he was.

"Vhenan."

She looked up to find his blue eyes filled with something so soft, so tender that she dared not speak, less it disappear.

"I love you."

His words were spoken fiercely, like a declaration, like truth itself, and she cannot help but repeat them back to him with equal passion. In all the world they have found their perfect other, and to have this moment together is so precious a gift they dare not waste a moment.

Their trip to the bathroom in a haze of soft kisses, and they spend the next few hours in delirious pleasure amidst the steam and scented oils.

He woke her in the middle of the night to make love to her a second time.

Half dazed, she had risen from sleep to the feel of hot flesh brushing her belly, her flank, the tenderness between her legs. Murmuring her mouth tilted upwards to meet his in a slow seductive mating that set fire to the blood in their veins, a slow burn that seemed to grow with each second.

Hands trailing along his strong back, her hands tightened when his found what he had been looking for.

"_Solas_."

Breathless, she drew back to see that amused look in his eye, that dark glint that had everything to do with his ability to make her gasp.

"Yes, Vhenan?"

His voice, infuriatingly steady to her own distracted one, seemed to laugh at her. But when she opened her mouth to say something he moved his hands in so scandalizing a way that her brain all but turned to mush.

Stuttering his name as she arched, ached, her fingers dug into the strong muscles of back as she tried to ride out the cresting wave of pleasure he had just wrung from her. But he was not done with her yet, and as he slid lower, the lovely curve of her body invited him to taste, to tease.

His laughter, his chuckle of amusement, was lost as he fixed his mouth upon her breast and sent them both spiraling towards even sweeter pleasure.

Later, after they had both collapsed with the pleasure of their joining, Lavellan found herself in the warm circle of his arms, nestled close to his chest, his heart. It was comfortable there, safe, and she had no intention of ever leaving.

But the evening was cold upon their fevered skin, and it was not long before Solas' mild shiver had her scrounging around for the blanket they had lost somewhere in the darkness.

Roused herself just long enough to pull the blankets up, she settled back beside him with a contented sigh, enjoying the way he shifted her closer so that he could burry his noise in the silky soft of her hair.

"Sleep well, my love."

She whispered the words so that he might hear but he was already asleep, lost to the beauty of his dreams and the mysteries of what lay beyond. And as she gently traced the elegant lines of his features, the silvery light played across the entwined shape of their bodies until it felt at once as if it must be a dream.

She fell asleep to the sound of his steady breathing and the feel of his heart beating beneath her open palm.

It was morning the next time she woke. Though this time it was not tender touches that roused her but the sound of raised voices, of shouting so close it seemed as if they were in the bedroom.

Eyes snapping open, she sat up to find herself alone but covered by the long length of Solas' coat. The owner of said coat was nowhere in the small room, but touching the sheets where he had slept revealed them to still be warm.

Perhaps he had gone to investigate the source of the noise?

Outside the voices seemed to grow even louder, building to a crescendo.

What was going on?

Worried, Lavellan sprang from the bed, pausing only for a moment to slip Solas' large cloak around her smaller form. The sleeves hung well over her hands, and the size of it meant she felt dwarfed, but it suited her purposes well enough.

She had no intention of doing more than seeing what was happening outside.

But no sooner had she left the privacy of her room when she found herself stopped short by what she found. And the surprise, the shock, of it made her pale with such abruptness that she had to tightly grasp the door frame to avoid losing her sense entirely.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Her mistress, furious and nearly scarlet with emotion, scowled at her gardener and demanded again, "What is the meaning of this?"

Flanked by her two personal guards in the middle of Lavellan's kitchen, the noble woman had never looked more imposing, more dangerous. There was no mistaking the look in her eyes as she surveyed the couple that stood before her, the tightlipped rage that burned as she stared at the man who even now remained unbowed by her temper .

Solas.

Face set in an equally grim expression, he glanced back at where his lover was standing. Pale and frightened she might have been, but remained where she was, her eyes never leaving his own.

"Go back to the room, vhenan."

Calm, there was no hint of anger or temper in his serene tone. Gently he directed her to the safety of the other room, to the place that had, just hours before, been filled with such tenderness and love. She wanted nothing more to return to that time, but she could not, would not, leave him to face her mistress alone.

Hesitating, she opened her mouth to tell him just that. But the look her gave her made her choke on her words.

"Please." He tried to smile for her, but his lips could barely counter the look of grief in his eyes, "Go to the room and close the door. I'll explain everything when this is over."

"Explain yourself?!" Her mistress hissed as her bright eyes sliced from Solas to where Lavellan remained trembling, "Oh believe me, I will have explanations for you both."

And that was the day Lavellan's world changed forever.


	4. 04 - Appropriate or Not

AN: This is what happens when one writes slow-burn fanfic and needs to get the tension out. Not super developed plot/characters but I hope you enjoy.

Modern College AU.

* * *

It was late in the evening when she knocked on the door to his sanctuary. No timid tap nor wary request for entrance, her fist pounded against the antique wood until the ancient thing swung open on its oiled hinges.

The room itself looked much like the man who called it his place of study. A cavernous space, it was crammed full of esoteric texts and enough reference material to put even the most prolific museum to shame. Notes on ancient dance custom were layered beneath equally meticulous observations of dining and hierarchical housing manifests, and all of them were written in the precise and undeniably masculine hand of the man who acting Department Head of Ancient Cultures.

Silent as a tomb, her presence in such a space might have been jarring had she not seemed so utterly one with the chaos that she found there. Still, it was not a perfect congruency, and despite her ease she was, in many ways, a contrast to this shrine of academic refinement. Intelligent though she was, there was no ounce of reserve, in the loud clothing she wore, the daring cut of her blouse and the tattoos that painted her from neck to wrist.

A rebel, a child of modernity. She bore the trappings of her age with the sort of reckless dedication of youth, a wild, hedonistic revel in oneself.

Had she been anyone else, those of the collegiate upper crust might have had something to say about her appearance in the office of the university's foremost experts on ancient culture. But she had arrived with the reputation of a prodigy, and the years since her arrival had only cemented that rumor as fact. Even those who might have objected to her at the onset had been forced to admit that if anyone was bright enough to succeed as department head, vacant after so many years, it would be her.

"Hey, professor?"

She poked her head into his office as she made her way around the space, already knowing he would not be behind his desk. Despite the light that shone in the dark, his desk remained acutely empty save for the memories of the night before.

It was hardly a surprise, but his absence there could only mean one thing. Grinning, she turned and headed towards the back door, a nondescript bit of metal and wood that hid the darkest of their secrets.

And this time she did not even bother to knock. Rather she drew the key from around her neck with the sort of smooth gesture borne of practice and a lifetime of being discreet.

"Professor?"

She waited until the door had closed behind her before she spoke again, and this time she got a response.

"I thought I told you, despite my age and undeniable wisdom, I am not a professor."

"Shit!" She jumped as she swore, whirling on her heel to stare him in the eye, "Don't do that! Didn't anyone tell you that sneaking around is not ok?"

It was a phrase she had said to him many times before, but it never ceased to amuse. Even now he smiled at the ferocious scowl on her face. It was rather like seeing a fluffy dog attempt to growl, all bluster and no bite.

"My apologies. I shall endeavor to avoid 'sneaking around.'" He did not sound the slightest bit sincere, and she rolled her eyes.

"Oh don't bother promising," She sighed, "We both know that's a load of bullshit."

His lips quirked into a smile, "Indeed."

And then, their greetings complete, he left her to stand at the far side of the paved walkway, hand dropping to the pocket of his worn tweed to fish out a lighter and blunt.

His clothing was something Lavellan had quickly gotten used to, some version of threadbare knit over an equally worn white button-up, all of it dressed up by an ancient tweed coat. But there was a fine-ness to the quality of his wardrobe, as if he had come from money or once made his wealth only to let such fortune fade.

Not that it mattered to her, if studying civilizations of the past had taught her anything, it was that wealth, despite its implication of power, was ultimately fleeting. But it, along with the countless other facets of his personality, seemed to leave her forever curious.

Just who was this man? This scholar who insisted he was no professor but who patiently taught those that sought such wisdom.

"I didn't know you smoked."

Following him to the edge of the patio, she snagged the small white cylinder in his hand with a frown. And yet, that too made sense, for the scent of it clung to the thick weave of his coats, his shirts, his skin.

She glanced at him, "Do you have another?"

When he shook his head in the negative she sighed again, "Liar."

"Smoking can kill you." He protested plucking the item from her grasp, lighting it and taking a long drag, "It's terribly unhealthy."

She looked at him blankly, "And that makes it ok for you but not for me? Rather hypocritical there, professor."

This time she used his title to needle, to watch as his expression shift into one of mild irritation. He took several inhales before tapping the ash from its tip, but not once did he offer it to her.

"Now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about, Lavellan?"

They both knew what it was that had driven her to seek him out, but if he wanted to play stupid then she was more than willing to play along.

"About what happened, last night..."

His face did not change, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the hitch in his otherwise smooth smoke.

"I see." Troubled, his words were slow to arrive, "I…apologize. It should not have happened as it did."

The words surprised her, were not quite what she expected.

"But it should have happened?" She pressed.

He shrugged, shifted, could no longer quite make eye contact. "You deny that you enjoyed it?"

Of all the things he might have said, it was not this. And in her surprise she found humor.

"You're…shy?"

The thought was so intriguing, so tantalizing, that there was no helping the smile that bloomed on her lips, "Did I compromise your delicate sensibilities when I suggested your office?"

But if she had thought her teasing might make him flush and stutter, the sight of his lips twisting into a slow grin made her realize that she had misread him entirely. For the look her gave her was not one of flushed embarrassment, rather it was one of a wolf who looked at a rabbit and found it amusing. Hunger, desire, even when they had sought release with one another the look in his eyes had never equaled the fire that was there now.

"Believe me, an office desk is hardly the most adventurous place I've indulged."

"O-Oh?" She could feel heat climb upon her cheeks and was mortified to realize she was the one caught blushing.

His chuckle was the sort of dark thrum that jumped her heartbeat, made it pound in her ears. Flicking the cigarette to the ground, he strode toward her, intent clear in every fiber of his being.

"Indeed." Smiling, smirking, he advanced on her, "Would you like a demonstration?"

And though she squared her shoulders and braced for the searing press of his hand against the exposed skin of her hip, the feel of his mouth, she was not nearly as prepared as she might have thought.

There was no stopping the startled gasp that came when he flicked the top button of her blouse open, and with each subsequent button he ratcheted up the tension even further. Blazing a path with the heat of his lips, when he pulled back for a moment, her own hands dug in, dragging him back, lowering tellingly over his well formed behind as she rocked against him.

Even as he stepped her slowly backwards it seemed impossible to separate their bodies, their grasping hands making short work of zippers and the clothing in between. And when small moments of tenderness gave way to nips and bites of passion, there was no turning back from the inevitable.

"Solas." Lavellan felt herself arch, ache, when he finally sank into her, filling all those intimate spaces that had craved him most. Blistering heat and unthinkable softness, the contrast drove them onward, straining towards that invisible peak.

And when at last they found it, together, they did not separate immediately. Rather, amidst the sound of heavy breathing and tang of sweat they found some measure of peace.

Him, from a world he found so disappointing.

Her, from a world that judged her for everything but what she was on the inside.

"Forgive me." He said after a while, drawing back, slowly putting space between them, "That was inappropriate."

He reached out to gently smooth the hair he had mused with his hands.

"Inappropriate?" She raised one eyebrow, the piercing glittering as it caught the light. She grinned as she stepped forward, connecting with him once more as her hands rose to press against his chest. Reversing their position as she pushed him back against the wall and indulged in a tender nuzzle of his throat.

"My dear professor that may as well have been Victorian compared to what I want to do to you."

And as she rose up to capture his lips, the world dissolved into incoherent nonsense. For once, the world was all the better for it.


	5. 05 - Just Once

AN: THis one is dedicated to the lovely Willowsle in celebration of her support of my other fic, Lover's Knot: Unraveled &amp; Entangled.

She asked for angst without character death - a challenge I took to heart! I hope you enjoy this little piece!

For all you other supporters out there - don't hesitate to send me a PM or find me on tumbr. Your prompts are always appreciate :)

Best,

Voi

* * *

There is a world where they meet only once.

He is not a man she would recognize, and she is little more than a face in a crowd.

War and the weight of godhood have turned him into a bitter man, tired of the decisions that have wrought such destruction on the People, the good intentions that ultimately lead astray.

A lifetime fleeing the aggression of humans has turned her into a timid facsimile of herself. A shivering child where she should have been a woman of strength, bravery.

The forest is her home, just as the Dalish are her people, and she has never had to know or learn anything else.

Never had to _be_ anything else.

Their meeting in the mountainous region around Haven is a twist of fate, a single chance to discover all that had been missing, all that could be.

Amidst the chaos of the forest they see find one another and there is no missing the flash of recognition, the realization that they have met their kindred spirit. They only need to open their mouths, to say something and their connection might yet be made.

But they both remain silent.

He because he is done with love, and affection, and must think of his mission.

She because her life has always meant fleeing rather than standing and fighting for what she wants.

And so they pass each other by in silence, never knowing that in another world theirs is the love of legends, the thing that inspired _her_ to stand against a god, that drove a nation to follow her and call her Inquisitor.

A love that drove _him_ to undo the mistakes of his youth, to redeem himself and make him whole.

In _this world_ their love is hardly a footnote, a 'what if' that goes unanswered, and they spent the rest of their lives silently wondering at the chasm in their chest, the hurt that lingers.

Only the memory of that moment remains, and that is not enough.


	6. 06 - Noir World

AN: This is a little something I got inspired to write after poking around tumblr and seeing some really great film-noir inspired pieces. While I can't claim to be as good at those writers, I thought I'd give the whole dark/gritty world thing a try.

Enjoy!

~Voi

* * *

It had been a long day and an even longer night.

The moon hung in the sky trying its best to chase away the dark, but the creatures that lingered in the cesspool below made it impossible. The gloom of the city seemed to stick to the citizens with the sort of single-minded dedication that criminals could only aspire to and Lavellan was done dealing with _that_ for the day.

"Gods, what a shithole."

Lavellan sighed as she shrugged out of the too-large coat she wore, tossing it on her half-made bed on her way to the kitchenette. Flinching when the stitches in her side pulled, she cursed as she strained to see her bandages in the dim foyer of her dank back-alley apartment. In a city as populated as Val Royeaux it made sense that space ran at a premium, but even that did not excuse her cramped quarters. Smelling of mildew and the cloying perfume worn by the prosititues next door, Lavellan grimaced as she forced open her single dirty window and found the smell outside worse, albeit cooler in temperature.

Orlais' capital, it was supposed to the jewel in the empire's impressive crown. Instead, Lavellan found it closer to a fancy bordello. Nobles indulged their every whim and cared nothing for the corruption that ran rampant. Prostitution was the best means of turning a profit, and the Grand Cathedral was the place where such deals were made in broad daylight.

Oh how the mighty had fallen.

The Mage Uprising had lived and died all without their notice, but she could see the damage. Even now the citizens watched each other warily, suspiciously, and with healers being put to death for even the _rumor_ of magic, disease was spreading faster than the blight itself.

The Inquisitor had been forced to send Lavellan to Val Royeaux when a crisis in Denerim had demanded her full attention, but their goals were ultimately the same. There was another faction beginning to take hold of the underworld, use that power to destabilize the already shaky empires and build their own atop the rubble.

An empire for _elves_.

The rebels called themselves the Creators, taking the names of the pantheon for themselves.

Lavellan hated that part of her sympathized. She had been raised away from cities, away from _humans_, and bore them no special love. But the time of elven dominion was long over, and it was time the People accepted that Arlathan and Elvhenan were only ancient ruins, nothing more.

Progress was not made by clinging to the past.

Besides, she had seen the damage these so called _freedom fighters_ were capable of. The carnage was the bloodiest she had ever seen, a viciousness that seemed almost animalistic. Two years she had been living undercover, trying to find their leader, and the experience was slowly starting to wear on her.

Digging into her kitchen drawer for her pack of cigarettes, she lit one with little fanfare, taking a second drag when the first failed to steady her.

She had known there was going to be a murder tonight, had suspected. Fate had cursed her doubly though, and on her way to stop it she had stumbled upon a young elven man being accosted by a pair of rather aggressive women who had confused him for one of the red-light districts delicacies.

Lavellan imagined the man would have been fully capable of freeing himself except that one of the women had proved to be a mage, a Tevinter noblewoman no doubt, since those were the only ones left alive after the purges. Two nobles against a commoner, an elf. Had she chosen to leave the scene she knew it was possible she would have read about him the following day in the paper.

Nobles had a way of making their little indiscretions…disappear.

And so she had stuck around, warning them well off with a little show of her own when they had been stubborn. Much good it did her though, the elven man seemed rather put out at the end of it, it seemed he was an assassin and she had chased away his targets.

She snarled. It figured the Crows would take to infiltrating the brothels. They never did have much in the way of scruples when it came to doing business. In the end, her detour had made her a moment too late, and by the time she had arrived the target was already dead, the killers on their way out. They had actually surprised one another, and she now had a side wound to show for it. Considering that the two that tried to remove her were now dead she figured she had received the better deal.

Her half-assed attempt at sewing herself up had only earned her a litany of curses and a sort of brief unsteadiness that was more dangerous than the wound itself. If she was going to recover properly she needed a healer who would not ask questions. Unfortunately her usual physician, Anders, had recently fled with his lover across the Waking Sea.

_Selfish bastard_, she thought bitterly.

He had eluded the mage purges thus far, the least he could have done was sent her a letter telling her he'd gone. She'd dragged herself to the squalid little shopfront on the other side of town only to find him gone.

Setting the coffee pot on the stove, Lavellan remembered the agony she had endured on her trip back, the staggering pain that had ultimately forced her to duck into an alley way and press herself to the slimy walls as she gasped for breath. It had started to rain, a torrential downpour that beat down on her mercilessly despite her condition.

Huddled beneath the narrow overhand, she had tried to swallow down her fear, but her extremities were beginning to chill, and that was never a good sign.

It was then that she had saw him. Tall and skinny, sunken features that spoke of hunger and a life lived too close to death, the young man emerged from the shadows like a ghost, a spirit. Given that she had been well trained, the fact that she had not even heard him following her made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle in warning.

Eyes large, luminous in the dark, the young street urchin zeroed in on her bloodied side, pausing for only a moment before he darted away, pale blond hair glinting from the greasy street lamps.

Alone, likely bleeding out, Lavellan had braced herself and slowly lowered herself to the ground, shivering at the night air dipped lower still. Half lost in the haze of injury as she was, she had been only vaguely aware of the boy, the ghost, returning some time later, this time accompanied by a taller figure. A man with ears as sharp and pointed as her own, his appearance made her stomach clench in recognition. She knew him well,_ too well_.

She snarled, trying to get away from him, but his grip was firm despite his gentle touch.

"No need to be surly, Lavellan."

He had chided, "You and I both know you cannot afford to be picky right now."

His hand drifted lower, slowly peeling back her coat and shirt to brush against the edge of her wound, making her jerk and gasp in pain.

"What in the world are you involved in this time?"

He asked, though the question was more musing than actually directed at her for an answer, "You promised to keep safe."

He sighed as his hand finally settled beneath the wound, and with a small whisper prompted the magic to flare between them. Green and glowing, it washed over her like a wave, soothing her wounds as well as pulling her under. And before she quite knew what was happening she was asleep.

She had woken to find herself in an alleyway closer to her home, sheltered against the rain by the well positioned lid of a trash can. It stunk, but it worked, and Lavellan grudingly accepted the kind gesture knowing that she would likely be required to pay it back soon.

A knock at her front door brought her back to the present, drawing her attention away from the now-screeching tea kettle. Turning her stove off, she crossed the cramped quarters with little hurry, plucking her revolver from beneath her bed pillow before approaching her entryway.

She didn't bother asking who it was, no one ever answered anyway. Instead, she gave the doorknob a sharp twist, a well timed kick, and the door swung open to reveal the man who had saved her life just a few hours earlier.

"Solas." Lavellan took a drag from her cigarette, exhaled slowly, blowing the smoke from the corner of her mouth, "I thought I told you to leave me alone. Forever."

"Did you?" His blue eyes glittered beneath the hood of his cloak, the smirk on his lips was sharp, delicious curve on his angular face, "It seems I've completely forgotten that."

"You haven't forgotten anything. You have a mind like a trap." She said with a frown, "So, what brings you to my doorstep?"

He raised one brow but said nothing.

"I did not ask you to-"Lavellan sighed, stopping herself short as she glanced around to check if anyone was paying attention to them. It was not uncommon for men to be coming and going on this floor, but she was not willing to take risks either.

Ten seconds was a small price to pay if it meant she could continue her two year charade a little bit longer.

Gesturing him inside, Lavellan scowled when he passed her and plucked the cigarette from her lips and took it for himself. Inhaling its poison with smooth smirk and groan of contentment, he smiled.

"At least you know to buy quality." He said, "Though I supposed that was why you came to me in the first place."

Lavellan felt her cheeks heat, and his roguish smile said he knew _exactly_ what she was thinking of. Their history together was a long and convoluted one, but once upon a time he had been her lover, and that sort of history was not dismissed in a city such as this.

"Tell me, do Inquisition agents regularly moonlight as jazz singers, or are you a special case?"

"Me, an Inquisition agent?" Her lips curved into a smile, "Aren't you cute."

His eyes narrowed, "You deny it?"

"Considering I spend my days getting groped by would-be pimps inbetween music sets I don't know when you think I have the time to go and do something like that."

"You're smarter than that, Lavellan." He said gently, "Don't think I haven't noticed your late night trips to the Alienage at the far side of town."

"You have someone following me?" She drifted away from him, towards the small make-shift bedroom and its floor to ceiling mirror, "Should I be impressed? Flattered?"

Her hands skimmed the curves of her body as she reached up to undo the catch that held her dress closed. And with little more than a shrug, she loosened her gown and sent it pooling to her feet in a silken tumble. Smiling, she bit her lip when she saw felt the heat of his gaze travel the length of her body, the translucent fabric of her slip, lingering on the silk ties that held her stockings up.

"Can't you tell I thought of you today?" She teased, touching the little ribbons, "But it seems you've only thought of intimidating me."

She tilted her head, watching him through the fringe of her lashes, "Have I ever done anything to worry you, to put you or your position in harm's way?"

He was on her in a moment, hands splaying wide on her hips as he stood behind her, pulling her back ever so slightly so that she might feel the heat of him, the strength that anchored her so effectively.

"I'm still injured." She breathed as his hand crept higher still, playing across the curve of her ribs.

"I can make you better." He whispered, and again his hands glowed with the green of his magic, "I will always make you feel better."

She looked up, at their reflection in the mirror and was horrified to see tears in her eyes.

"I know." His expression was tender, somber, "I cannot undo _that_ injury, no matter how much I may want to. And for _that _I am sorry."

"Why did you betray me?" She whispered, her voice trembling.

Solas smiled sadly, "Does it matter?"

She turned, faced him as her hand knotted in his shirt, "Did any of it matter to you?"

He skimmed the side of her jaw with his thumb, "Yes. All of it."

And there in her apartment, beside the one man she loathed above all others, she wept. And the only one who cared for her tears was the one who had, with a gesture, destroyed her entire world those many years ago.


	7. 07 - Vessel

AN: Hello all! It's been a while since I posted a new AU - but this one could really do with some feedback. If there is any interest with this I may turn this into a full fledged fic - so let me know what you think!

Cheers,  
V

* * *

Solas woke to find himself in chains, his head pounding, body aching from the forcible draining of magic he had endured for nearly three days. They had seen to that with brutal effectiveness, and he had not even a drop of magic left to heal the bruises and cuts upon his person.

But who they were was impossible to say. Observant though he was, he had not seen them clearly when he had first been attacked, and even now they were careful to knock him unconscious before they dared appear.

It had helped their cause that his cell was a dark, dimly lit hole.

But when he lifted his head this time, expecting to see rough hewn stone, he found himself in an open courtyard instead.

Lit by the fullness of the moon, it may have been dark, but it could not compare to the deep shadows that had been his companions in that cell. Rather, the velvety blue seemed almost peaceful.

Water sprang from opulent fountains along the courtyard's periphery, cascades of silver in the moonlight that fed each feature, each one larger and more complex than the next. And upon the white stone walls climbed pale-blossomed flowers so small and iridescent they looked almost like a shimmering curtain of pearls, a creation of the sea rather than land.

But in the end, it was not the shimmer of water nor beauty of the flora that surprised him, rather it was the sparkle of crystal, of twisting spires and soaring buttresses that made the breath catch in his throat.

He knew those responsible for such architecture, but they had not been seen for a millenia, and he had not yet found a way to free them.

"So the wolf awakens at last."

He knew that voice though he'd only heard it a handful of times before. Hard, almost, cold, when he slowly turned his head to look at the speaker he was not disappointed.

Abelas, the guardian from Mythal's own temple. It had not been so long that he had forgotten the man, but there was something unsettling about seeing him now.

_Were the guardians responsible for his capture?_

"What are you doing here?" Solas asked. "And where are we?"

Though he was in no position to ask questions, Solas cared little for the consequences. If the other man had wanted him dead he would not have squandered his countless earlier opportunities. Whatever his intent, Solas was needed alive and he could use that knowledge to his advantage.

"Do you not recognize it?" Abelas' expression may as well have been carved of stone, there was not even the slightest inflection to betray his thoughts.

"It is called Tarasyl'an Te'las. Though the humans that lived here recently called it Skyhold."

Solas stiffened, gazing around the courtyard with new eyes, trying to see the fortress that it had been not long ago. But every recognizable fixture had been erased, and there was not even the slightest detail that might betray its return to its ancient heritage.

He had been gone nearly twenty years. A whisper in the grander symphony within which he lived but perhaps it had been too long after all.

So much had happened in such a short time.

_What else had the guardians removed?_

Mulling over the words, Solas frowned grimly, "What fate befell the people who made their home here, the Inquisition?"

"Ah, your _friends_." This time there was a smile upon Abelas's lips but there was no joy in his expression, "They were encouraged to leave. Those that agreed were spared what came after."

A chill settled in Solas' gut as the faces of all those he had called friend floated up from the depths of his memories.

"And what _exactly_ came after?" He asked softly.

"Our lady took her rightful place on the throne."

The Inquisitor's Throne.

_Lavellan._

For the first time Solas appreciated that he remained kneeling on the ground, knowing with terrible clarity that the strength in his legs might have failed him then.

"Did you kill them?" He asked, "Mythal is dead. Who did you serve by removing the Inquisition?"

"We serve the vessel of the next generation." Abelas said cryptically, "We were called to her side, and it was her command that bid us clear Tarasyl'an Te'las."

Solas felt his chest give a painful squeeze.

Lavellan never would have willingly submitted to another power, would have fought for the keep and its people. Had they killed her? Or was she shackled somewhere, a prisoner of the very elves she had often spoken about with such longing?

The Dalish may have longed for their past, but even these guardians had been twisted by the weight of their duty. There was no one left of the old ways, and the vessel that commanded them now was likely just another misguided elf.

It was a story not unlike his own, but Solas could not condone it if it was true.

He had made mistakes, but he had tried to right them. It was unthinkable to even consider showing mercy to one who had destroyed those he had come to care about.

"Why?"

Solas' question lingered in the quiet, mingling with the soothing rush of water and whisper of wind. And though it looked like the guardian might respond, there was a sudden bloom of green light in the distance and whatever the man's intent, it was bent to the will of that magic.

"It seems you will have your answer soon enough."

And with a wave the shackles around Solas' hands came undone, leaving him free to move. It was a hollow gesture however for even now his magic remained woefully out of reach, and he posed limited threat to the guardian who was, even now, armed to the teeth.

Their trip towards the throne room was a silent, subdued affair. Solas lingered only once when they passed a row of lovely sculptures, each one commemorating a veiled elven woman, the styling of which made it clear the _lady_ expected to be treated as the pantheon before her.

The wolf in him rebelled, seething at the thought that history might try and repeat itself once more.

"This...lady...she is not Mythal."

Solas knew what had become of the All-Mother, but confirming it for himself seemed important. Abelas had declared his devotion to her for over a millennia, so it was impossible to know what had spurred him into service this time.

Solas had no idea what the guardian meant by vessel, but it did not bode well.

"That is correct, she is not." Abelas paused at the top of the steps, "But she speaks with the Mother's wisdom, it is enough for us all."

They reached the entry to the throne room not a moment later, and though Solas continued through, he stopped when the guardian lingered at the entry.

"You do not wish to follow?" Solas asked, feeling his brows raise.

Abelas lips quirked, "I will not be needed."

"And if I try to attack her?"

The man's smile grew, sharpened, "I do not think you will. Though if you try it would be a fool's errand. She could crush you if she so wanted."

Knowledge was power, and Solas meant to gather as much as he could before facing this false god.

"If she is so very powerful then why doe she need you?" He asked, sharpening his tone to a cutting edge.

"For when the moon is new." Abelas responded patiently, cutting the conversation short with the obliqueness of his answer.

And before Solas could press the issue, could ask the guardian what he _meant_, the bloom of green magic returned to touch the arch between them and seal it shut.

Decision made for them both, Abelas paused only long enough to nod farewell before turning to leave. And Solas, though he lingered to examine the translucent barrier between them, eventually found his curiosity leading him deeper within.

It was as if he were stepping into the hall of the first time. Gone were the sturdy wood and stone arches of Skyhold, replaced instead by the soaring heights made possible only by crystal and magic. Stepping further into its embrace he followed the winding flagstones past pools of silver throated lilies and perfumed branches of white blossoms.

The space was one of serenity, peace, and refined beauty. And yet none of it could mask the sense of loss that he felt with each step forward.

Cunningly hewn though the sculptures were, they could not replace the mark of the woman who had once lent her own talents to decorating this hall. And though he had not seen or heard from Lavellan since leaving he could not forget woman he loved nor would he allow her fate to go undiscovered.

Turning a final bend around a smoke colored willow, Solas found himself confronted with the very woman who had taken dared usurped her crown and stolen her throne.

Waist deep in a pool of scarlet, she did not seem to notice him when he arrived, and yet the shock of such a violent shade lapping at her figure made Solas wonder if she might be bathing in blood.

But as she ascended the steps at the far end of the pool, the color fell away, clinging to the blood lotuses that yet remained within its watery depth. And the white of her gown shone so pure that it looked nearly silver in the moonlight that streamed through those crystal walls.

Humming as she moved, her soft melody seemed to drift just above the surface of the water, as slow and soothing as a lullaby.

The air of the hall seemed to reflect her tranquility, and he watched, waited as she tended the plants at the edge of her watery gardens. She was dressed like a goddess of the water, he could not deny that. Dripping in gems that reflected those countless cascading steams, she seemed as much part of the water as mistress of it.

But the truth of her appearance was a mystery. Back turned as it was, there was nothing to give her away, and even the glimmer of her veil hid the color of her hair from his gaze.

When she finally turned, however, faced him and opened her eyes, he found the breath frozen in his lungs.

The delicate features, the soft flesh of her mouth, he knew them all, _recognized_ them. And it seemed almost too much when she slowly drew the shimmering cowl from her hair for he already knew the color it would be.

"Hello, Dread Wolf."

Her voice caressed him like a lover's touch, as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

But the surprise threatened to rend him in half like a violent slash of a sword.

_"Lavellan?"_


End file.
